


The Sexual Education of a Georgia Dandy

by cholera



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Barebacking, M/M, Mild Language, Rimming, Threesome - F/M/M, dildo, historical handwaving
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-25
Updated: 2013-06-25
Packaged: 2017-12-16 04:19:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/857699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cholera/pseuds/cholera
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles left Georgia young and has since been traveling the country, learning all that he can about getting by in the harsh, late-1800s world around him. In Boulder, Colorado, he meets a whore who teaches him just what he needs. Old West AU. (No werewolves.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Sexual Education of a Georgia Dandy

**Author's Note:**

> My first Teen Wolf fic ;__; This was originally a fic that I'd written for another fandom, and I wanted a comfortable way to sort of ease into this fandom, so I renamed the characters and changed some key details to fit. (I know, I know, that probably seems lazy. But I AM working on an actual, original Teen Wolf fic, okay?) XD be gentle?

Boulder was beautiful country, Stiles thought. Not Georgia — too cold to be Georgia — but the mountains and the pine were beautiful to see, and the crisp, clean air smelled and tasted lovely. He sipped some brandy from his flask for warmth, then tucked it away. The saloon at his back was calling to him. 

He’d been young when he’d left Georgia. There had been a misunderstanding between Stiles and a gentleman who’d held him at gunpoint. Stiles had explained things quite clearly, by stabbing the man in the genitals. As it was Stiles’s own father who was sheriff, he’d not stuck around for any resulting scandals. 

He’d celebrated his sixteenth birthday in New York, where he’d learned how to be a poised, refined gentleman. That was not to say that he hadn’t learned that all in Georgia — he _was_ a southern gent, after all — but New York had higher standards that he’d appreciated and kept to. He’d celebrated his eighteenth birthday in California, after a leisurely trip across the country, learning how to gamble and shoot as he went.

Now, he was in Boulder, Colorado, enjoying the air and the company. He gambled a bit here and there, but for the most part he watched the people. He’d already had one spat with a Mr. Whittemore over a game of poker, but there were no lingering hard feelings there. Mr. Whittemore was fond of the ‘dancing girls’ in the saloon he frequented, and for a week, now, he’d been cajoling Stiles into buying one of them for the night. Stiles, personally, didn’t believe in buying anyone for any amount of time.

“What’s the matter, Stilinski?” Whittemore slurred. While Stiles had been out enjoying the sunset, Whittemore had remained inside, drinking — and losing at faro. It’d put him in quite the foul temper, and this he turned on Stiles. “Your willy don’t get stiff at the sight of a pretty girl?”

Stiles’s lips curled into a tiny smile. “I didn’t say that,” he replied. “I believe in showing a woman more respect than that, Mr. Whittemore. At any rate,” he added, smile widening slightly, “I don’t need to pay for it like some men do.”

Whittemore glared at him. “I don’t gotta pay, neither!” he growled. He paused, composed himself, then said, “You prob’ly don’t know where to stick it, anyway.”

Stiles sighed. He knew if he didn’t respond, Whittemore would think he was right, but he didn’t feel like arguing, either. He drained his tumbler of scotch and stood. Lydia, one of the ‘dancing girls,’ was leaning on the bar in her fine dress, looking out on the room to see if any were interested. Stiles wasn’t a particularly large man. He was of average height, but lean, bordering on slight. Lydia was only an inch or two shorter than him, and she didn’t wear the heeled boots that most dancing girls did. She wore silk slippers, instead. She was soft and gently curved, but not heavy, with a pretty face and kindly eyes, and Stiles was sure that if any woman would ever arouse him, she would be the one to do it.

He politely asked for a moment of her time, and although she smiled, she played along with his graciousness and offered her hand.

There were rooms above the saloon for just this purpose, and she led him up the stairs with a finger looped around his scarf. Her room was dimly lit with an oil lantern on a dresser. A wash area was in one corner, with a wooden privacy screen set up. A towel draped over the top of it.

“Well, Sir,” she said, calling his attention back to him. “Shall we get started?” Her voice was smoky and smooth, with the twangy accent of Arkansas or Texas.

Stiles looked her over, and he cleared his throat and fidgeted with his waistcoat, then nodded. She stepped closer and loosened his tie. He shrugged out of his coat and unbuckled his gun holster. She worked on his waistcoat, and she pushed both down over his shoulders for him. Then she tugged his shirt from his trousers and helped him pull it off. 

“Well, well,” she said, looking over his smooth, lightly muscled torso. “Not a hair on you. Just how old are you, anyway?”

“Old enough,” he said. He smiled a little and looked down. “Almost nineteen.”

“You’re so smooth and clean, I’d think you’re not even fifteen,” she said. She ran her fingers down his chest and to his trousers. She unclasped the waistband and slid her hand inside. “Least you ain’t hairless down here,” she teased. He blushed a little. Her hand was small and smooth against his skin, not a single callus on her palm. He didn’t swell in her hand, and she looked down at him. “What’s the matter?” she asked. “It broken?”

Stiles looked down again, and this time he looked ashamed. 

“I fear I may have led you here under false pretenses, Miss Martin,” he confessed. “You see, while I find you delightful to look at, I’m afraid it isn’t a woman’s body I dream about at night.”

Lydia watched him, then smiled gently. “You ain’t ever been with a woman, have you,” she said. It certainly wasn’t a question, so Stiles only shook his head. “You ever been with a man?” He shook his head again. “You ever been with anyone?”

“No,” he admitted softly.

“Well, tonight’s your lucky night, Mr. Stilinski. It just so happens I know just how to treat men like you.” 

She turned them around and pushed on his shoulders until he sat on the bed. Then she sauntered over to the dresser and opened the top left drawer. After rifling through the satin lingerie, she pulled out a glass vial and a polished wooden—

“Oh.” Stiles’s eyes widened when he realized she was holding a wooden replica of a nicely sculpted, well, dick. She smiled over at him.

“I use this before fucking men with a particularly big pecker,” she said. “Don’t need no injuries, if you get my meaning.” He thought perhaps he did. She walked back over, waving it in front of her. “I also use it when I come across a few men like yourself, who only get their jollies with other men.” She smirked when she stopped in front of him. “Don’t worry,” she said. “I wash it regular-like.”

Stiles looked up at her, swallowing hard. “And where is that meant to go?”

She smirked. “Anywhere I want it to go, Darlin’.”

Lydia straddled his lap, remaining up on her knees. She ran the head of the dildo against his lips, and he blushed a little at how lewd it felt. It was cool and polished against his skin.

“Now, the thing you oughta know about men is, all they care about is fuckin’.” She used her free hand to tug his mouth open, thumb on his chin. “You find a man’s aggressive enough, he’ll just shove his pecker right in that pretty mouth’a yours, and you ain’t allowed to bite down or choke or nothin’.” She slid the dildo into his mouth slowly, though. “I reckon this don’t taste wonderful,” (It certainly didn’t.) “but it’s just to teach you a thing or two.”

Stiles thought he’d choke now, the way it filled his mouth. Under Lydia’s tutelage, though, he learned how to breathe through his nose, nice and steady, learned how to use his tongue against it. She eased it so far back he felt it bump his throat, and he made a tiny sound and instinctively swallowed around the head. His eyes watered — but his dick pulsed. Lydia smirked down at him.

“Just you wait ‘til I find a willing man for you, Mr. Stilinski,” she murmured. 

She slid the dildo from his mouth. It released from his lips with a slick pop. Stiles had to rub his jaw for a moment. Lydia let him recover from that little experience, but then she eased off the bed and stripped until she was just in her corset and underskirt. She guided him back further on the bed and told him to strip out of his trousers. Once he had, she tossed the little glass vial to him.

“This is the most important part of being with a man, Mr. Stilinski,” she said. “You ain’t like a lady, where your parts just slick right up at the sight of a pretty pecker. This’ll make sure you don’t get tore up.”

He picked up the vial and looked at it. She encouraged him to uncork it, so he did, and sniffed the contents. It smelled like mineral oil, and when he said as such, she said,

“That’s what it is.” She climbed back on the bed. “Here, roll on over, get up on your knees.”

He stared at her. “Beg pardon?”

She shrugged. “Roll on over, get up on your knees. Show me that tight little ass’a yours.”

Stiles blushed brightly, but did as he was told. “You’re not like any woman I’ve ever met, Miss Martin.”

“No. I ain’t.” She said it with a dot of pride, and even seemed to preen a bit. 

Stiles lowered his head to the bed and pressed his brow against the backs of his hands. Lydia smoothed her palm down Stiles’s back, then over the swell of one cheek. She smacked it lightly.

“Hey!”

She giggled. “Relax. A girl’s gotta have her fun.” She took the vial back from him, but corked it and set it aside. Then she gripped his cheeks with both hands, parted them, and flicked her tongue against his hole.

Stiles gasped at the first touch. That wasn’t the dildo, he knew that immediately. It was far too warm and wet. When her tongue returned, it stayed. She massaged at his hole with it, flicked just inside and lapped over him. He felt his dick twitch, and moaned at the sensation. He’d toyed with the idea of touching himself, knew from boisterous men that women sometimes let men fuck them in that hole, but he’d never actually felt it before. As her tongue worked over him, it felt as though every nerve ending was on fire. It sent bolts of pleasure straight to his cock, and soon enough he was moaning with every breath, writhing closer. This was _amazing_!

Just when he was sure he was going to come, she stopped. He whined in protest. She giggled, and she was still close enough that her breath washed against his skin. He pressed back towards her, silently begging for more. But she pulled away, hands leaving him.

“But—” he tried. “But—”

“Now, now, you just relax there, Mr. Stilinski,” she cooed. “I ain’t gonna leave you hangin’, promise.”

Soon enough, her mouth was replaced by her slicked fingers. He’d nearly forgotten about the oil vial. The first slid in easily, and she thrust it into him in a steady rhythm. Stiles pressed his face into the pillow. His fingers clenched in the bedding when she added a second finger. The slow burn of the stretch felt at once intense and divine, and sent him babbling. Lydia chuckled above him. He couldn’t even work up an ounce of indignation.

She did something, then, something with her fingers that had sparks bursting behind his eyes. Stiles let out a ragged cry and his entire body jerked. It was only her hand around his dick that kept him from coming then and there, but she obviously wasn’t done with him just yet; she continued to work those two fingers inside of him. He whimpered beneath her. Lydia made a sound above him.

“ _You_ ain’t like any man I ever met, Mr. Stilinski,” she murmured. 

He thought he was losing his mind when she added a third. She stretched him wide with her fingers, licked around them with that sinful tongue.

“Now, I want you to breathe, and calm down a touch, Mr. Stilinski,” she said. 

Stiles felt suddenly empty when she drew back. He swallowed and took her advice, though. Breathing was good. He felt hot all over, and his hair had sweated out the fine grease he used to slick it back. He rolled over, onto his back, to try to get some air, but everything felt humid and close. He glanced at Lydia; her petticoat was lifted and her hand disappeared under it. Stiles could guess what she was doing, and he swallowed a little at the idea that she was doing it because of _him_.

“D’you feel like you’re about to burst?”

Stiles considered this, then shook his head. She smiled and held up the dildo.

“Excellent!”

Stiles stared. “Wait, that’s—”

“Goin’ up your ass, yep!”

Even as he wondered if it would even _fit_ , his dick pulsed at the idea of being filled and stretched again. She smiled and slicked the glossy wood with more oil from the vial. Then she spread his legs for him and pressed the head of it against his hole.

The stretch was wider this time, the burn slower, but even that sent pleasure through him. He pressed his head back into her pillow, spine arching. It pressed him down against the dildo, and he moaned at the feel. Only once he’d taken it fully, though, did she start to thrust it shallowly inside him. It warmed quickly with his body heat. Stiles bit his lip to keep from growing too loud. 

She worked him to orgasm this time. Each thrust of her hand brought the head of the dildo in firm contact with that spot inside him, the one she’d found with her fingers. He came with a shout, then sagged against the mattress and tried to catch his breath. Distantly, he heard her mewl. He glanced over and saw her shivering, hand between her legs again. He swallowed.

“That,” he managed after a moment, “was . . .” He paused, then chuckled breathlessly. “There’re no words, Miss Martin.”

Lydia just grinned over at him, smug as the cat that ate the canary.

*

Stiles visited Lydia regularly after that. At times they simply sat talking, and although Stiles enjoyed her company and the things she had to say, he made an effort not to take away from her job, too. She deserved the right to make an honest living, after all. 

Needless to say, Whittemore’s plans to make Stiles feel like less than a man had backfired. It showed on his face that he knew, but Stiles paid it no mind. Tonight, he’d set out to enjoy his cards and his scotch. Lydia’s friend and fellow prostitute, Allison, was providing live entertainment in the form of song and dance while a young man played on the piano. He took turns watching and playing, and joined everyone in looking towards the doors of the saloon when they swung open and a group of boisterous men pushed their way in.

They were dusty from the range, and wore hats and chaps and they looked tired but ready for some fun. Stiles had come across cowboys in the Midwest, but he’d been younger, then. He’d made a sound effort to stay out of their way. These men didn’t look like the dangerous, gun-slinging criminals he’d heard about in the stories regaled to him on the trail heading west, but Stiles didn’t want to press his luck. He’d learned how to take care of himself, but he was still small — and compared to these men, he was downright _dainty_.

One of the men looked directly at him then. Stiles realized he’d been caught staring. For a moment, he froze, uncertain. But the man watching him didn’t look upset or disgusted. In fact, he looked amused. His lips quirked into a smirk, and his right eyebrow lifted, as if to say ‘Like what you see?’

Whether or not that was what he was actually asking, the answer was simple: Stiles did.

Just the same, he offered only a polite tilt of his head, then turned back to his scotch and his cards.

He couldn’t help surreptitiously watching the man, though. His head covered in thick dark hair, dusty and rumpled by his hat; he was broad-shouldered — from hard work on the range, no doubt — and his hands looked strong and rough-skinned. Stiles crossed one leg over the other to hide his, ahem, growing interest. Of the many stories he’d heard, the ones that had struck him the most were the too-vague tales of cowboys all but destroying the men who preferred the company of other men. At the time, Stiles had been sure those he’d traveled with knew he could be counted among those sorts, and were threatening him. Over time, he’d determined that they were just trying to scare the wide-eyed little boy for a laugh. That didn’t mean he would take the risk now, though. Stiles was quite fond of his life.

He noticed Lydia speaking to the man, and they went off together. Stiles drained his scotch and focused more on the game at hand instead of on handsome cattle drivers.

Twenty minutes later, he was fifty dollars richer and two tumblers of scotch warmer when Lydia came up behind him, slid her hands over his shoulders and down his chest, and leaned her lips against his jaw.

“C’mon, Stiles,” she purred. “Put those cards down; I’m gettin’ lonely up there.” 

His lips curled into a smile. He tilted his head so he could see her, then feigned a sigh.

“Gentleman, if you’ll excuse me,” he said. “It appears a more interesting proposition has just _arisen_.”

They rolled their eyes at him, but nobody fussed. Stiles stood, then took Lydia’s hand and let her lead him up the stairs and into her room. The path had become familiar, and already Stiles’s dick was stirring in anticipation.

Lydia opened the door and led the way into her room. Stiles paused as soon as he stepped through the doorway. The cowboy he’d eyed in the saloon sat comfortably on the bed opposite him, with just a cotton towel around his waist after his bath. Stiles had nearly forgotten about him, and had completely forgotten that Lydia had only just brought him up here not half an hour ago. The man was looking at him now, looking him over the way Lydia had the first night they’d met — the way Stiles had wanted to when he’d first walked through those swinging doors. Lydia squeezed Stiles’s hand reassuringly.

“Stiles, this here’s Mr. Derek Hale,” she said. She sidled closer to Stiles’s side and kissed his cheek. “He’ll treat you right,” she whispered. “Promise.”

Stiles finally tore his eyes away from Hale and looked at Lydia instead. It was easier; Hale had an intense gaze that made Stiles feel at once vulnerable and flustered. Lydia’s eyes were open and affectionate. He trusted her and knew she would take care of him. He considered her a good friend, and thought that if things were different, he would have married her.

His fondness and his trust must have shown in his face, because she smiled and kissed the corner of his mouth, then held her hand out to Hale.

“Derek, this is Mr. Stiles Stilinski,” she said. Hale pushed himself off the edge of the bed and stepped forward.

“Well, Mr. Stiles Stilinski,” he said. His voice was smoother than Stiles had thought it would be, not as deep, but pleasant. “Good to meet you.”

Stiles swallowed, looking up at him. “It’s good to meet you,” he echoed softly. 

Hale smiled again, then reached up and pushed Stiles’s suit coat off his shoulders. Lydia stepped up behind him and pulled it down his arms. She knew Stiles prided himself in his pressed, clean appearance. She draped his coat over the chair by the dresser. Hale unbuckled Stiles’s gun holster and pushed that over his shoulders, too. It joined his coat. Stiles swallowed as he watched Hale work. He remained focused on his task, loosening Stiles’s tie, but he smiled at the silk of Stiles’s waistcoat.

“So fancy,” he murmured. “Where’re you from, Stilinski?”

Stiles swallowed again. He could feel the heat of Hale’s hands through his clothes as his buttons were undone one at a time.

“Georgia,” he breathed at last.

“Mm,” Hale replied. “I hear it’s very green there.” 

He licked his lips as he pushed first Stiles’s waistcoat, then his suspenders, off his shoulders. Stiles’s eyes tracked the movement of Hale’s tongue. He was still watching Hale’s mouth when the man smiled.

“You’re a man’a few words, Stilinski,” he noted. Stiles forced himself to meet his eyes.

“I find myself quite speechless,” he admitted. Hale chuckled.

“He’s charmin’, Lydia.”

Stiles had almost forgotten she was there. He wasn’t sure how: like Hale seemed to be, Lydia was a force to be reckoned with, worldly in ways Stiles only dreamed he could be. His stomach jumped and tensed when her hands smoothed around his middle. She pulled his shirt from his trousers.

“Didn’t I tell you?” she asked. “Stiles here’s one’a my favorites. He’s been so good to me, Derek.”

Her hands smoothed down the outsides of Stiles’s legs, down and down, and he distantly heard her skirts rustle as she lowered to her knees. Stiles’s arms shot up to grip Hale’s shoulders when she lifted one of his feet to tug his boot off for him. Hale smirked.

“That’s real good to hear,” he said. “I reckon me and you might just get along, Stilinski.”

Stiles watched him for a moment, then shook his head.

“Not if you keep calling me Stilinski,” he said. It took every ounce of his poker skill to maintain the cool, confident exterior he wanted, but the look of pleased surprise on Hale’s face was enough of a reward.

“What else am I gonna call you?”

“My name,” Stiles supplied. “Stiles. Seems only appropriate, seeing as you’re about to be fucking my mouth.”

Hale’s eyes darkened, and Stiles knew he’d pulled it off. He may not have had much experience, but he could feign it. As soon as Lydia was out of the way, Hale shoved him back. The grip on Stiles’s arms was a tight one, and as Stiles’s back collided with the wall, he let out a quiet ‘Ah!’ of surprise. It was exciting, the reminder that Hale was bigger and stronger — the contrast of his gentle touch with his underlying strength. If he wanted, he could likely break Stiles in two. And yet he cradled his jaw now as if he were a precious item.

He ran his thumb over Stiles’s lower lip. Stiles flicked his tongue out, tasting his skin and feeling the rough pad. Hale thrust his thumb into Stiles’s mouth slowly. Stiles moaned. It was as arousing to be used like this as it was to watch Hale watch him. He kept his eyes on Hale’s as he sucked lightly, tongue pressing against him and swirling against the whorls of his print.

Hale made a sound that shot right through Stiles, and at the light pressure on his shoulder, he lowered himself to his knees.

Hale’s dick pressed hot and hard against the cotton of the towel. Stiles leaned forward to nuzzle him. Hale tangled his hand into Stiles’s hair and rolled his hips closer. Stiles closed his eyes and let him rut against his face for a moment. Then he reached up and tugged the towel away. It pooled around Hale’s feet, and the damp corners landed on Stiles’s knees; Stiles was too busy taking in the sight of his erection to really notice or care.

“You just gonna stare at it?” Hale asked. There was a teasing lilt in his voice, and Stiles looked up at him.

“It’s awfully pretty,” he shot back, eyebrows raised innocently. Hale smirked and growled out a little laugh, but his fingers tightened in Stiles’s hair and tugged him closer.

It was different, like this. Lydia obviously didn’t have a dick of her own, other than her dildo, and she’d done her best to teach Stiles. She’d used her mouth on him to teach him what felt good, used her fingers in his mouth to make sure he knew what to do. But Hale was bigger than her dildo, bigger than three of her fingers. He smelled musky, clean but male and vital.

Stiles liked it.

He nuzzled him again, skin to skin this time. He flicked his tongue out to catch a taste, then licked up the length and pulled the head into his mouth. Hale let out a sound at the initial contact. His fingers tightened in Stiles’s hair, but he didn’t yank him closer, like Lydia said some men did. He just looked down, watched Stiles’s lips stretch over his dick. Stiles hollowed his cheeks out, sucking hard, and was rewarded with a long, low groan. He worked Hale’s dick with his mouth for a few moments. When Lydia guided his right hand up, he wrapped his fingers around the difference and pumped in time with his mouth.

“Fuckin’ goddamn,” Hale breathed. “Lydia, you taught him good, Darlin’.”

Stiles was sure Hale was just being charitable, or maybe he wasn’t often sucked — Stiles couldn’t imagine that being out on the range lent itself to homosexual trysts. Or maybe he was used to those even less experienced than himself. He just knew that Hale tasted good, heavy on his tongue and so much better than the wooden phallus. At the first taste of precome, Stiles moaned. It was slightly bitter, musky in the same way his skin was, but stronger. Hale gasped sharply at the vibrations coming from Stiles’s mouth and thrust deep into his mouth. Stiles sucked in a breath through his nose and tried not to choke.

“Easy, Derek,” Lydia murmured from somewhere nearby. “He’s still learnin’, y’know.”

“Sorry, Stiles,” Hale gasped. He combed his fingers through Stiles’s hair, reassuringly, apologetically. “You got yourself a sweet mouth.” 

Stiles hummed around him, and in response, Hale found a slow but deep rhythm. With each thrust, he let Stiles get accustomed to the feel of the head of his dick in his throat. When Stiles looked up to see his face, he could see Hale’s stomach muscles trembling with the effort to hold back. Stiles was grateful. He moved his hand and bobbed his head, pulling him in deep and sucking hard as he did. Hale groaned above him.

Abruptly, he pushed Stiles’s head back and rubbed the head of his dick over his lips. Stiles could feel the precome smear on his skin, and he flicked his tongue out to clean it off — to taste it again. He tongued the slit sort of accidentally. Hale’s reaction was enough to spur him to do it again.

“Much as I hate givin’ up your mouth, maybe we can move this to the bed and I’ll fuck your ass, instead,” he said. “I bet it’s good and tight.”

Stiles trembled at the idea. His jaw ached, and he could imagine that the stretch of Hale inside him would be stronger down there, but he longed for it, longed to be touched and teased and fucked, to be filled. His pupils were blown wide with arousal, nearly hiding the bright amber irises, as he looked up at him. Hale could plainly see his interest.

“He likes to be fucked, Derek,” Lydia confided. “He likes it when I get him ready and fuck him with my toy. I bet he’ll like it even more when it’s you.”

Her voice sounded like a purr, needy and husky. Stiles could bet she was touching herself, but he didn’t want to look. He didn’t ever want to look away from the dark, lustful look on Hale’s face — the look Stiles knew he put there.

Hale grabbed him by the shoulders of his shirt and tugged. Stiles stood easily, and Hale slid his shirt up his body. He tossed it aside, baring Stiles’s slim, pale torso to his scrutiny.

He looked as though he liked the view.

“You ain’t as scrawny as I was thinking you’d be,” Hale said, not unkindly. Stiles still blushed a little.

“I think I’m quite small enough, don’t you?” he asked. “I should at least attempt to make up the difference.”

Stiles’s musculature was not showy, nor was it as bulky as Hale’s. He consisted of wiry muscle that he worked at in the privacy of his own bedroom — wherever that bedroom may be. He wanted to be strong to make up for his slighter frame. Perhaps if he’d worked hard on the range like Hale had, he might have a bit more to him, but he was a small man, he had no illusions about that. Too much muscle would only look comical. Not like Hale, who looked like he was built to carry it.

Hale chuckled and cupped the back of his neck.

“ ‘Quite small enough,’ ” he echoed. “Listen to you.” He looked Stiles over, a slow move that had Stiles reaching down to adjust himself in his trousers. “You ain’t too small, though. In fact, I reckon you’re just the right size for me to bend over.”

Stiles swallowed, looking up at him. “Then perhaps you should commence, Sir,” he murmured.

Hale nodded, but didn’t move for a moment. Stiles realized he was taking in the sight of him. He tried not to shift in place nervously. Fidgeting was unbecoming of a gentleman, he reminded himself.

There was a chuckle from the corner, and Hale grinned at the sound, even as Lydia said, “I know he’s a pretty picture, but would you mind gettin’ a move on? I got other boys waitin’ on me.”

Stiles looked over at her and grinned. “Ever the charmer, Miss Martin,” he teased. She grinned back. She was seated on a simple wooden chair, dress on the floor and petticoat hiked up about her waist. One leg was drawn up, and Stiles knew exactly what she’d been doing. She gestured with one slick finger between the two of them.

“You two put on quite the show,” she said. She sounded pleased. “Do proceed.”

Hale smirked at her. He hooked his hand around the back of Stiles’s neck and tugged him closer.

“Best do as she says,” he advised. “Wouldn’t wanna be on her bad side.”

Stiles giggled in a most unseemly fashion, partly because he couldn’t imagine being on Lydia’s bad side and partly because he didn’t want to try. He blushed a little at the sound of his own laugh; he’d been working to control that since he was a boy. It was a testament to how comfortable and secure he felt with Lydia and any she said she trusted that it slipped out now.

Hale smiled brightly, though. He didn’t tease Stiles the way some boys used to. He tugged him closer by the grip on his neck and kissed him.

Stiles had never been kissed before. Not on the lips, anyway. Lydia had kissed his cheek and his forehead, and his mother had kissed his hair, and once, a flirtatious girl in New York had kissed the back of his hand, as if she were the man and he were the girl. But he’d never been kissed the way Hale was kissing him: like his mouth was the most delicious thing in the world, like Hale needed Stiles to breathe; with teeth and tongue and short, needy sounds gasped out every time their lips parted. Stiles had to hold onto Hale’s shoulders, because it felt as though his legs had melted away below the knees.

He wasn’t even sure if he was kissing back. He was too dazed to pay attention. Hale tasted like whiskey and something minty. This close, his skin smelled like clean soap and something uniquely _him_. It was distracting as it was reaffirming: this was really happening.

Hale turned them and walked towards the bed. Before he let Stiles sit down, though, he unclasped his trousers and pushed them down. He wrapped his hand around Stiles’s dick and— _Oh_. Stiles couldn’t help a moan. He held onto Hale’s arms; his hips started pumping almost immediately. Hale’s hand was big and callused, hot and dry around him. Stiles had always liked men’s hands, even before he’d realized he liked men at all. And Hale’s hands were perfect.

Stiles pushed up on his toes and caught Hale in another kiss. This time, he was a more active participant. Hale plainly approved.

Then a hand on his chest pushed him backwards, and he yelped as he landed on the bed. Lydia gripped his shoulders and tugged him back further. Hale brought first one knee, then the other, up onto the bed. He crawled towards Stiles and bodily rolled him over and pulled him up onto his knees. Lydia moved out of the way and returned to her chair. He watched her until he couldn’t anymore — until Hale’s fingers in his ass distracted him too much. 

He buried his face into the pillow to muffle his moans. Hale’s fingers were wider than Lydia’s, rougher and less gentle. Stiles loved it. Hale took care not to hurt Stiles, the way Lydia had told him some men could, but he also knew that Stiles wouldn’t break, and didn’t treat him as such. He curled two fingers inside him, and there was that stretch again, the hurt-so-good stretch Stiles loved to feel, even as Hale sent sparks shooting through his body. Stiles shuddered and tangled his fingers in the bedding.

“Derek,” he gasped — sobbed. “ _Derek_ , _oh_ my—”

He groaned and writhed, trying to pull more of that delicious feeling out of Hale’s fingers. Hale worked him until Stiles was sure he was going to come. His dick was leaking precome onto Lydia’s bedding, and Stiles was a mess of gasps and moans.

He felt empty quite suddenly, when Hale slid his fingers out of Stiles’s ass. He whined, and Lydia giggled breathlessly.

“You’re so eager, Stiles,” she cooed.

“Shit, yeah, he is,” Hale growled. The sound made Stiles’s dick twitch. Hale shifted on the bed, then said, “Don’t you worry none, Stiles. You won’t be without too much longer.”

The bed shifted a bit, and Stiles took the moment of lack of stimulus to shift his arms. He wanted to brace himself a bit better, get more leverage.

Hale gripped Stiles’s hip with one hand as he shifted behind him. The anticipation cut through Stiles like a hot knife, then coiled pleasantly in his belly. He swallowed, but a sound still pushed out of his throat when Hale pressed the head of his dick against Stiles’s hole. He gasped: Hale was bigger than the damned dildo, bigger than the three fingers he’d used, and it _hurt_ , hurt more than Stiles had anticipated. He was slow and careful, had been generous with the oil, but the stretch was wider and it _burned_. Stiles turned his face into the pillow again. Hale stopped moving after a moment.

“Get used to me, Stiles,” he said. 

His voice was ragged, strained, and Stiles could feel the tremble of his thighs shaking the bed. The man was holding back — holding back for Stiles. He didn’t want to hurt him. He felt Hale’s hand slide up the length of his sweat-slicked spine.

“Relax, Stiles,” Lydia said from her seat. Her voice was a soothing murmur. “Just breathe a minute or two.”

Stiles swallowed, then turned his nose to the air again. He took several breaths, until he felt a shift inside his body. Hale let out a huffed breath. Then he pushed deeper in.

And that was different, that was _good_. It was wider than he was used to, fuller, but the burn had returned to that hurt-so-good Stiles had never realized he’d love so much. He felt a moan slide out on his next breath. He gripped the edge of the mattress in a white-knuckled grasp. Hale absolutely filled him. He held still when his hips met Stiles’s ass, waiting for Stiles to get used to it again. Stiles didn’t want to wait. Just feeling how big he was, how hot and hard inside him, had Stiles wanting to feel everything he’d felt with fingers and toy. He bit his lip and swallowed, then twisted until he could look over his shoulder.

“Well?”

Hale gasped out a laugh. “Impatient, ain’t you?”

“Are you gonna complain?” Stiles retorted.

Hale pulled back, then thrust in. Stiles gasped loudly. Sparks shot through him, and Hale hadn’t even touched that spot inside him, hadn’t even _brushed_ it. Stiles whined and arched his spine. It pressed his hips towards Hale, moved him towards that delicious, impossible feeling. Hale growled again; Stiles felt his dick twitch, and felt his ass clench around Hale’s dick.

“Fuck, Stiles, ain’t you somethin’ else,” Hale grunted. 

He held onto Stiles’s hips with both hands, and finally, _finally_ started to thrust in earnest. He took up a rhythm that forced Stiles up onto his hands or risk running headfirst into the headboard, even despite the hold on his hips. It changed the angle, enough that Stiles cried out. His arms threatened to give out at the lightning bolt of pleasure that shot through him. Hale pulled him close and held him there, then ground his hips in tight circles. His dick pressed almost unforgivingly against that spot. Stiles shook and whimpered. 

He felt like he was falling apart.

Every move Hale made inside him sent sparks chasing through Stiles’s body. He grew tenser and tenser with each thrust, hotter and slicker. The air in the room felt humid and stank with their sex. His skin felt hypersensitive to _everything_. Stiles couldn’t breathe without a moan or gasp working its way out. Each one was louder by degrees than the last, on the border of being too loud.

Hale doubled over him, chest against Stiles’s back, and tangled his hand into Stiles’s hair. With this new grip, he pulled Stiles’s head back and kissed him. It didn’t silence him, but it did help to muffle the sounds he made.

Stiles could feel his orgasm looming. Hale barely had to touch him! It was nothing like being with Lydia — while learning the trade, as it were — when she had to tease and touch every spot on his body that heated him up. All he had to feel was Hale moving inside him, one hand in his hair and the other looped under him to keep him close, and his stubble rasping on Stiles’s skin, to keep him on the edge — too hot to think, too far gone to do more than make wordless sounds of need into Hale’s mouth, but _not quite there_.

Hale shifted the arm holding Stiles up against him. He slid his hand down and wrapped his fingers around Stiles’s dick. Stiles let out a ragged sound. He felt like he was about to burst. All at once, every nerve in his body keyed into the touch on his erection. Hale used the precome that had been steadily forming at the head to slick the way, and soon was pumping him hard and fast. Stiles turned his mouth into his own bicep to try to muffle the sharp sounds he now made. He could feel the pressure building and gasped Hale’s name in warning.

Hale latched his teeth onto his shoulder and sucked a bruise into his skin. Stiles whimpered and bucked into his hand. He turned towards Hale when he felt his lips at his ear.

“You gonna come, Stiles?” he asked. His stubble rasped against his ear and jaw as he spoke, and Stiles whined. “Come on, Boy. I can tell you’re close.”

He was, so very close. Hale didn’t stop, whispering sin into his ears and working heaven into his skin with every jerk of his hand. Stiles whimpered. His eyes squeezed shut of their own accord, even as his mouth dropped open. Hale shifted inside him, and now, each thrust struck that amazing, wonderful spot inside him fully, sending white-hot fire through his blood. He couldn’t help an outcry. 

Then he felt it. 

His orgasm struck with the force of a train. His arms gave out, and he felt his balls draw up, and he came with a shout into the mattress. Hale straightened and continued to fuck him until his own orgasm. He brushed Stiles’s spot with each thrust; it prolonged his orgasm and kept him shivering and moaning. Everything seemed hazy and distant for a time. He was aware of Hale falling still suddenly, of a wash of heat inside him. He let himself drift for a spell after that.

*

When he came to, it was to the feel of a warm, wet cloth on his skin. Lydia knelt over him on the bed, a fond smile in place as she wiped him down. She was still wearing only her corset and petticoats, and her hair had fallen loose from its pins. Sunset locks fell in loose wisps around her face. She bit her lip gently as she worked. Stiles found himself wondering, not for the first time, if things could’ve been different for them. 

Then he reminded himself that it likely could never work between them. She seemed happy here, in her line of work and in her home. Stiles couldn’t ask her to change, not when he himself couldn’t change for her. He made a small sound and shook his head, and as he stirred, she looked at him.

“Welcome back, Stiles,” she teased.

He smiled up at her. “Did I go somewhere?” he asked. His voice sounded husky and wrecked from the sounds he’d been making — from holding sounds back — and, possibly, from Hale fucking his mouth.

“Mmm. To the land where virgins ain’t allowed to go,” she said. She leaned down and kissed his nose. “Derek’s washin’ himself up behind the screen in the corner. Figured I’d get you a head start, since you was covered in all manner’a filth.” She winked down at him. “I know how you are about your looks.”

“You’re too kind, Miss Martin,” he said warmly.

“I’m an old bat, and you ain’t gonna convince me otherwise,” she said with a roll of her eyes. Stiles saw the blush high on her cheeks, anyway.

She was still wiping him down when Hale stepped from behind the screen, fully dressed.

“That was good, Stiles,” he said. “That was real good.” 

He pulled some money from his pocket and set it on Lydia’s dresser, but stopped by the door and looked at Stiles again. He looked ready to say something, but Lydia cut him off.

“He knows, Derek,” she said. “Stiles ain’t gonna blab nothing, are you, Stiles?” She combed her fingers into his messy hair and used her grip to shake his head for him.

“I understand the concept of discretion, Sir,” he assured in a wry tone. He watched him a moment, then cleared his throat. “When are you leaving again?”

Hale watched him a moment, then smiled. “A few days from now.” That smile turned into a smirk. “I’ll, uh, be sure to see Lydia before I leave.”

Stiles smiled back languidly. “As will I, then.”


End file.
